


Responsibilities (the “You’ve Got to be Kidding Me” remix)

by tucuxi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, de-aging fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tucuxi/pseuds/tucuxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi tests a half-seen jutsu; Iruka happens to wander into its way.  Hilarity and exasperation ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Responsibilities (the “You’ve Got to be Kidding Me” remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not So Huggle (art)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3994) by Jofelly. 



> Written for the KakaIruFest Summer 2011 Remix. This piece did whatever the visual equivalent of earworming is, and started pretty much writing itself despite all my attempts to pick a less cracktastic premise.

* * *

  


“Are you going to tell me willingly why you turned one of your colleagues into a child, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

“I — it was an accident!” Kakashi protested. Tsunade didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“Really,” she said, glaring at him over her desk, “you turned a twenty-six-year-old shinobi into a roughly six-year-old child, and all you have to say for yourself is that it was an _accident_?”

All right, Kakashi thought, so that sounded a bit flimsy. “You make it sound like it’s my fault,” Kakashi said, feeling (and sounding) a little petulant. “He’s the one who walked directly in front of someone in the middle of performing a jutsu he didn’t know.” See if that truth did any better against Tsunade’s mounting irritation.

“What did you think you were you doing, trying out the first half of an unidentified jutsu in the middle of the woods, where anyone might come across you, instead of in one of the training fields?” Tsunade yelled, slamming a fist down on the desk. Kakashi stared at her, then leaned in, his palms braced firmly on her desk.

“They were all full. So I was training somewhere _inside Konoha’s wards_.” His voice was quiet, but Tsunade slumped back into her seat: they’d had that discussion more than a year ago, after the third time one of their new, augmented patrols had tried to apprehend him as a missing-nin, and Kakashi had instinctively broken a brand-new chuunin’s ribs for attacking from his blind side.

“All right, already,” she said, waving Kakashi back. Out of the corner of his eye, Kakashi could see Shizune and the boy standing by the wall, out of the line of fire, so to speak.

“Shh,” Shizune said, crouching down next to the little boy — the formerly-grown-up Umino Iruka — “it’s all right, they’re not mad at you.” She lowered her voice just enough that Tsunade and Kakashi could pretend not to hear her. “They’re a little scary, aren’t they?”

The boy turned to look at her and said scornfully: “No they’re not.” He turned to face Kakashi and Tsunade, shoulders square and stubborn, and raised his voice. “They’re just being loud. It’s not the same thing.”

Kakashi actually smiled at that under his mask: Iruka’s outspokenness seemed to have survived the age change just fine, which was probably a good sign.

“All right, kid,” Tsunade said, and Iruka puffed up in indignation until she turned to Kakashi. “You’re taking him home with you and keeping him out of trouble until you can figure out how to fix this.”

Kakashi gaped at her, certain his mask wasn’t concealing his surprise at all.

“I’m doing _what_?” he managed, bringing his hands up as if to ward her off. “No, I don’t think that’s a very good —“

“I want to go home!” Iruka protested, pulling away from Shizune and marching up to Tsunade’s desk. He wasn’t tall enough to see over it properly. “Why do I have to go with this old guy?” Apparently he didn’t recognize Kakashi, which made sense: they hadn’t known each other at that age.

Kakashi closed his eye and reminded himself that muzzling the kid in front of the Hokage was a poor idea.

“You’re going with him because he’s most likely to be able to fix this,” Tsunade said, “and because we’re not going to let you go back to your apartment alone. He doesn’t look like it, but Kakashi is a responsible adult.” Her tone almost sounded like a threat — an implicit _and you’d better prove it_ at the tail end of her statement.

Kakashi was pretty sure he heard Shizune stifle a snort.

“My parents are responsible adults!” Iruka protested, “Why can’t I just go home?”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Tsunade said. And then Kakashi could tell she was _really_ pissed off at him, because she followed that up by saying, “Kakashi will explain why.”

* * *

  


“You’re lying!” Iruka yelled, face bright red and eyes bright with tears. “I don’t believe you, you’re lying.” Kakashi watched him.

“I’m not,” Kakashi replied, keeping his voice neutral and even. “The Kyuubi attacked the village nearly fifteen years ago: you were eleven years old when it happened.” Iruka stared at him as Kakashi continued. “Your parents were two of the many shinobi who died protecting Konoha.”

That caught Iruka’s attention. He stared for a long moment, breathing heavily, and then flew into motion, tossing an exploding-tagged kunai directly at Kakashi and letting two go off in puffs of smoke right in front of himself. If Kakashi were someone else, it might have had a chance of working. As it was, he snatched Iruka out of the smoke one-handed when the boy tried to dive between his legs and to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Kakashi asked, shaking him a little bit. Iruka glared at him through red-rimmed eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t answer.

“I’m perfectly capable of holding you like this all night,” Kakashi said warningly. Iruka looked away. After a moment, he spoke so quietly Kakashi almost had to strain to hear him.

“…going to th’ memorial stone.” Kakashi cocked his head to one side inquiringly. “If my parents really —“ Iruka swallowed, “really died protecting the village, then their names will be there. I want to see.” Kakashi lowered him to the ground.

“All right,” he agreed, and savored the look of bewildered surprise on Iruka’s face. “But we’re eating dinner first.”

Iruka glared at him at that, but when Kakashi went to the kitchen Iruka followed, and got out the rice cooker when Kakashi told him where it was. Kakashi pulled an assortment of vegetables out of the fridge and chopped them up quickly. Hopefully Iruka wasn’t a picky eater: if he was, he wouldn’t be getting dinner, even if Kakashi figured that would probably get him into almost as much trouble with Tsunade as losing the kid would do.

“What’re you making?” Iruka asked, peering up at the countertops and pulling himself up on tip-toes to try and see. Kakashi edged Iruka away from the cutting board with one foot and reminded himself that this whole thing was temporary.

“Stir fry,” he replied. It was easy, and fast.

“Oh.” Iruka seemed to think about this for a moment. “Okay.” Kakashi reached for seasonings, and lit the stove. “Are you going to mix it in the rice?” Iruka asked, after a few moments.

“What?” Kakashi glanced down at him: Iruka was frowning, and looked unhappy about something. “No, probably not.” Iruka’s face cleared.

“Can I have two bowls?” he asked, apparently encouraged by Kakashi’s neutral responses.

“Sure,” Kakashi said, not really paying full attention. “Here, put these on the table.” He handed Iruka two glasses of water, which Iruka took, frowning a little in concentration. They were almost too large for him to grasp one-handed.

Dinner was a subdued affair. Iruka insisted on eating his rice and vegetables totally separately and made faces at Kakashi between huge, fast bites: Kakashi wondered that Iruka didn’t choke himself, though he didn’t really have room to talk, given how quickly he was eating in the moments when Iruka looked away. When he was done, Iruka slid down from his chair and took his bowls to the kitchen, where he put them next to the sink. Then he came back and stood next to Kakashi’s chair, watching him carefully and practically vibrating with impatience. Kakashi paused, and Iruka just kept staring.

Finally Kakashi put his bowl and chopsticks down and glared at him. Iruka just frowned right back.

“Are you done yet?” Iruka asked, just a faint hint of a whine in his voice. “Can we go now?”

Kakashi looked down at his half-eaten dinner, and then at the small child standing next to his chair, who looked like he was dangerously close to tears. He wasn’t going to get to eat anything else at this rate, anyway. He sighed.

“All right,” he heard himself say, “I’ll just—“ Iruka snatched his bowl and chopsticks and practically ran them into the kitchen.

“There!” he said, “now can we go?”

Kakashi insisted that Iruka hold onto his hand on the way over there — mostly to ensure that Iruka didn’t run ahead and get lost, or hurt, or anything else Tsunade would disapprove of — and slowed his stride a little bit to accommodate child-sized steps.

* * *

  


The memorial stone was abandoned at this time of night. Kakashi walked slowly up the field, the path long familiar: when they got fairly close Iruka let go of Kakashi’s hand and dashed toward the stone. When he reached the steps, he stopped for a minute, before shaking his head and determinedly making his way up them. Kakashi expected Iruka to start at the very end of the list and work his way back: instead Iruka started at a point about ten years ago, and worked backwards from there. Kakashi could tell when he found his parents’ names, because his hand stopped moving and he made a little sound, something like a small, hurt animal might make in distress. Kakashi stepped a little closer, but Iruka just crouched down and read their names, ignoring him entirely. Kakashi stayed where he usually stood, rather than moving closer. After all, he didn’t need to read the names on the stone: he knew where they all were.

It got steadily cooler as the twilight darkened, and Kakashi finally stepped forward. Iruka didn’t look like he wanted to leave the memorial stone: he seemed content to crouch in front of it with his arms around his knees, occasionally reaching out one hand to trace the characters of his parents’ names.

“Time to go.” Kakashi said quietly, after they had been there some time. Iruka got up stiffly, as if he’d forgotten he had joints and had to figure out how to stand all over again. Kakashi expected some kind of protest, but Iruka just looked at him, tear-tracks visible on his cheeks.

“All right,” he said, voice almost inaudible, and walked over to stand next to Kakashi, holding his hand up expectantly.

It was a strikingly self-possessed gesture from a child so young, and Kakashi found himself wondering again exactly what the jutsu had done, and how much of the adult Iruka remained in this boy: surely he hadn’t been exactly like this as a child? Neither of them spoke on the way back to Kakashi’s apartment.

* * *

  
Iruka barely stifled a yawn as they took off their shoes, and Kakashi wondered absently where Tsunade had found sandals so small on such short notice.

“All right,” Kakashi said, “you need to sleep.” He pulled a bedroll from the closet and set it up on the floor in front of the desk. Iruka just looked at him expectantly when he was done. “What?” Kakashi asked, a little irritated.

“I need to brush my teeth.” Iruka informed him solemnly. After that he needed a drink of water: he looked surprised when Kakashi told him to get it for himself. Then it was a change of clothes (and Iruka rejected almost everything, finally accepting an old short-sleeved black shirt that Kakashi didn’t remember ever buying.) When Iruka asked for another drink of water, Kakashi frowned.

“You can get water for yourself.”

When Kakashi turned to get ready for bed himself, Iruka bit his lower lip and looked down: he looked very, very young for a moment. He said something too quietly to be heard. Kakashi sighed, and knelt in front of him.

“What?” Kakashi asked, “you know where the bathroom is, and you’ve got somewhere to sleep.”

Iruka looked at the floor and muttered, “didn’t say g’night.” Kakashi stared for a moment, then stood.

“Good night, Iruka,” he said firmly, “get some sleep.” Iruka obediently crawled into the bedroll and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Well, Kakashi thought as he pulled up his covers a few minutes later, if all it takes to keep the kid quiet is a visit to the memorial stone, this might work out.

* * *

  
Kakashi woke to screaming in the middle of the night. He bolted upright at the sound, heart racing, chakra reaching out swift and subtle to find the enemy. There was none: just a crying child on his floor, who was getting quieter and quieter as the seconds ticked past. Falling back asleep was the work of a moment.

The third time Iruka woke with a yell, Kakashi rose and knelt next to the boy.

“What is it?” he asked. Iruka stiffened — apparently he hadn’t heard Kakashi move, though Kakashi hadn’t made any attempt to be quiet.

“It’s nothing!” Iruka insisted, voice choked with tears. “I’m fine, I’m not scared.”

Kakashi sighed, and bent down. He’d been a little older than this when Minato-sensei had given him a book to quell the nightmares he wouldn’t admit to, but it was probably worth a try.

“How well do you read?” Iruka looked up at him with puffy eyes, wiping at his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“I read really well!” Iruka sounded almost insulted. Kakashi just nodded, and walked over to the bookshelves on the far wall. He finally pulled down a collection of short stories: the mysteries were probably a bit bloody, but shinobi kids got used to violence pretty young.

“Here,” he said, holding it out, “read this. I’ll leave the light on so you can see.”

* * *

  


When Kakashi woke up in the morning, Iruka didn’t look like he’d slept very well, but he hadn’t woken up screaming again, so Kakashi counted it a success. Breakfast was a subdued affair, and Kakashi took Iruka with him to the memorial again: this time Iruka read names around his parents’, looking progressively more upset each time he recognized one. Eventually Kakashi walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, and the two of them walked slowly back to his apartment.

Iruka was quiet for a few hours after they got home, while Kakashi got started figuring out what had brought this all about in the first place. He really wished his teammates hadn’t been quite so enthusiastic about killing their attackers: if the woman whose jutsu he’d half-copied had still been alive, Kakashi could just have questioned her; if her body had been a little more intact, T&I could have tried to figure out how her various jutsu worked by examining her corpse: that was pretty much impossible to do on someone who had been carbonized by an enormous fireball. So Kakashi was stuck trying to figure this one out from first principles: it’d take longer, but it _should_ be possible — so long as it wasn’t based on a kinjutsu Kakashi didn’t know. Unfortunately, given the surprising effects, that wasn’t at all unlikely.

Kakashi sat cross-legged on his mattress, closed his eye and started flicking through all the jutsu he knew that started with the Monkey seal. He had just gotten through all the jutsu whose second seal also matched, hoping to find some common element, when something poked him in the arm, _hard_.

Kakashi opened his eye to see Iruka — or his six-year-old self — standing in front of him, a book in his other hand.

“‘m _bored_ ” the child announced, as if this were sufficient reason to interrupt. “You’re just _sitting_ there, can’t we go _do_ something?”

“Keep reading the book,” Kakashi suggested, closing his eye again and trying to figure out where he’d left off.

“Finished it!” Iruka protested, waving it at Kakashi. “And this one is boring.” Kakashi looked up at that — Iruka hadn’t gotten any of the books on shelves down, and the copy of Icha Icha Violence Kakashi had been re-reading was … the book Iruka was holding right now. Kakashi resisted the urge to put his head in his hands: he was pretty sure that letting a six-year-old read one of Jiraya’s books was pretty high on the list of things Tsunade would yell at him for if she found out.

“All right,” he snapped, taking the book away and putting it on a shelf at his eye-level, out of reach, “so you’re tired of reading. Go practice walking up that wall, or meditate or something.” Iruka stared at him.

“Meditating’s boring!” Iruka informed Kakashi, who let himself bring a hand up to his forehead. What was it kids this age were supposed to like doing? At this age he’d been perfectly content to be left to his own devices to practice for hours at a time: Iruka obviously was not.

“Then just sit down and wait.” Kakashi closed his eyes again and picked up where he’d left off. That worked for about a minute. Giving Iruka paper and pen to practice calligraphy worked for about fifteen, though he definitely hadn’t been practicing calligraphy, unless dogs and people counted: at this rate, finding distractions would be more of an interruption than anything else. Finally Kakashi stood and got his vest and hitae-ate: maybe he could wear Iruka out and get some quiet that way.

“Come on,” he said, “we’re going outside.” Iruka looked up at him in surprise and grinned.

* * *

  
An hour or so later, Kakashi was running out of patience (and, to his dismay, Iruka seemed no tireder than he had an hour ago: it almost seemed as if going outdoors had added to the amount of nervous energy humming through Iruka’s frame.)

“Look,” Kakashi said, a little irritated, “you can either work on chakra shaping and keep trying to walk up the tree, or you can keep sitting there being bored. Which is it?” Iruka glared at him: it was remarkable how similar some of his expressions were to his adult self. “You already know how to do this,” Kakashi said, “so do you want to re-learn it or not?”

“I do not!” Iruka protested. “They don’t teach that at the Academy!”

Kakashi closed his eye. “No,” he said, for the second or third time, “they don’t. But you used to know how to do it.” Iruka stared at him for a moment, as if Kakashi were speaking in tongues. “All right,” Kakashi said, “so you don’t want to learn chakra shaping.” He tossed a handful of kunai to the ground at the kid’s feet. “Go toss those into a tree somewhere you won’t hurt anyone.”

That got him about a half hour of near-silence. Then Iruka yelped, once, and started taking big, gulping breaths.

Kakashi had expected the kid to maybe nick his fingers. He hadn’t expected Iruka to manage to slice his cheek open while pulling his hand back to throw a kunai: that took a special kind of talent. And, as it turned out, it also produced a truly alarming amount of blood.

* * *

  


“What were you _thinking_ , giving a six-year-old a kunai and leaving him unsupervised!” Tsunade’s glare was impressive as ever.

“I thought he’d at least know _which end was sharp_!” Kakashi countered. “I wasn’t even half his age when I figured that one out!”

Tsunade buried her head in her hands. It sounded like she was either choking or laughing very quietly. Maybe both.

“All right,” she said. “Sakura!” Sakura looked up from Iruka, who seemed to be perfectly fine now that she’d healed his cheek; she shot Kakashi an impressive glare nonetheless. “Keep an eye on Iruka for the rest of the day, so Kakashi doesn’t toss him off a cliff or something.” (Privately, Kakashi resented that a bit: he wasn’t _stupid_. Though even Tsunade would have to admit that it _had_ worked with Naruto.)

Sakura smiled down at the little boy.

“All right, Iruka-sen -- Iruka,” she corrected herself, holding out a hand. “Have you had lunch yet?” Iruka shook his head, and grasped her outstretched hand. “Well,” she said, “it just so happens that I know a _fantastic_ place for ramen. How does that sound?” Iruka’s eyes lit up and he grabbed her hand, smiling. Sakura walked with him out of the office, her voice trailing off as they turned out of sight.

Tsunade glared at Kakashi for a moment before breaking down into peals of laughter. He waited them out, and finally she quieted.

“How is he doing?”

“He’s not sleeping,” Kakashi told her, “at least, not for long. He’s having nightmares of some kind. He doesn’t want to talk about them, and he’s very definitely _not scared_.” He raised an eyebrow.

“It may be nightmares,” Tsunade allowed, “or it may be repressed memories. It’s probably better if he doesn’t think about it too hard: we don’t know if he’s capable of remembering anything, after all. Sakura will give him a full scan while she has him this afternoon: then we’ll know more.”

He nodded.

“What did you do about the nightmares?” Tsunade asked, as he turned to go.

“Gave him a book and left the light on. He didn’t wake up screaming after that. Don’t know how much he slept.”

“Kakashi,” Tsunade said, as he reached for the door, her tone entirely serious, “good luck.” He nodded.

* * *

  


Sakura brought Iruka back in the early evening, grimy from head to toe and smiling widely.

“Hello, Kakashi-sensei,” she said: she sounded a little tired. “Any luck?” He shook his head, and motioned for the two of them to come in. Iruka stepped in the door and then plopped down to undo his sandals, putting them neatly in the row of other shoes before hopping up and making for the kitchen nook. Kakashi and Sakura caught his collar at the same time.

“No way,” Sakura said, “you are definitely scrubbing down before you go _anywhere_.” Kakashi let go, and Sakura followed suit. Iruka stayed where he was.

“You said I could get a drink of water for myself!” Iruka accused, leveling an impressive glare (for a six-year-old) at the two of them.

“When you’re not leaving muddy footprints behind you,” Kakashi replied easily, “you can.” Iruka frowned, before trudging to the bathroom as though it were a tremendous chore.

“So,” Sakura asked, just a little too casually, “how was your afternoon?”

“Thank you for looking after him, Sakura-chan,” he said quietly, turning toward the door and opening it. “You can tell Tsunade that the time was well spent, and that I can’t fix it yet.” She flushed, and turned to go.

Iruka peered out of the bathroom when she had left, dripping slightly. “Is she gone?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Yes,” Kakashi said, walking toward Iruka. “But you still have to take a bath.” He started to ask if Iruka could do it by himself, and stopped. Of course Iruka would say yes, and then Kakashi would have a partly-muddy child running around the apartment.

“Come on,” he said, putting a hand between Iruka’s shoulderblades and pushing him into the bathroom and toward the small stool, “sit down, you’re not going in the tub covered in dirt like that.”

Iruka sat still for everything except his hair, which was ridiculously tangled.

“Ow!” Iruka protested. “That hurts! Stoppit!”

“If you’re going to keep your hair this long,” Kakashi said, “you either have to learn to wash it yourself, or how not to get sticks and tree sap stuck in it.” Iruka frowned, and then nodded, the movement yanking at the comb Kakashi was holding. Iruka yelped; Kakashi sighed, and pulled his hands away.

“You might as well get in the tub,” he said, “maybe some of the rest will soak out.”

It didn’t, but by the time Iruka came out of the bathroom, hands wrinkled from the water, Kakashi had cooked dinner and had resigned himself to an evening of babysitting. So it was a pleasant surprise when Iruka took the comb away from Kakashi, sat down cross-legged on the floor, and attacked the tangles on his own, refusing help until he’d gotten the comb itself stuck in his hair. As he attempted to untangle that mess, Kakashi wondered idly if there were such a thing as a hair-de-tangling jutsu that girls learned, or if long hair was always this bothersome.

Iruka curled up with a book at the end of Kakashi’s bed and fell asleep there; he grumbled, but didn’t wake up all the way when Kakashi moved him to the bedroll. Kakashi pulled down another two books that might be all right, set them next to Iruka and left the light on.

* * *

  


The next morning, Ino showed up to take Iruka off his hands and Kakashi managed at least to figure out the shape of the jutsu as he’d seen it by mid-afternoon. Then he retreated to the Hokage’s tower and set to sorting through piles of old, musty books and scrolls, many of which, he was sure, had not been moved for decades, much less read. One or two refused to open when he touched them, seals glowing darkly for a moment before fading back out of sight: openable only by the Hokage. Kakashi put those aside carefully, and hoped he wouldn’t need them. There was certainly enough to read without them: no wonder Orochimaru had wanted a Sharingan.

When Ino brought Iruka back that afternoon, they were both covered in dirt; Kakashi himself wasn’t in much better shape, smeared with dust and cobwebs, with a stack of reading nearly as tall as Iruka balanced in the corner. Iruka grinned and stuck his tongue out at Kakashi.

Kakashi nodded at Ino, and shoved Iruka toward the bathroom. “Not yet,” he said, before she could ask. “Tell Tsunade it’ll be at least a week.”

Ino shot a glance at Iruka, who was trudging towards the bathroom, leaving little clods of dirt behind him.

“He was completely impossible in the flower shop,” Ino said, her voice sharp. “I don’t know how you deal with him, Kakashi-sensei, he’s so …” she trailed off. “I never imagined Iruka-sensei being so much trouble! Is he always like this?”

For some reason, hearing another person complain about Iruka’s behaviour put Kakashi’s back up.

“He’s a perfectly normal child,” Kakashi said quellingly, reasonably certain this was true. “And no, he’s usually _more_ energetic.” She stared at him in poorly concealed horror before straightening out her features. Iruka slammed the bathroom door shut behind him and Kakashi knew Iruka had heard both of them.

Iruka was impossible in the bath, probably because Kakashi himself didn’t exactly present a model figure of cleanliness: he splashed Kakashi several times, splattering him with water from head to toe. But Iruka helped set the table for dinner, and was quiet through the meal. It was only after Kakashi had cleaned up and taken a seat at his desk to read that Iruka livened up again.

“Sakura-san can hit things really hard,” Iruka ventured, causing Kakashi to look up over the edge of a scroll. “Can I do that too?” Kakashi shook his head, and went back to reading. “Can I make people better like she does?” Kakashi shook his head again, trying to figure out what the scroll’s author had meant by _’the very fabric of being itself’_. “Can I summon things?” Kakashi shook his head again, scanning forwards in hopes of an explanation from the author. Iruka paused. “Ino says she can mess with people’s heads, but she said it’s a family thing. Do I have a family jutsu?” Kakashi looked at him for a moment.

“Not that I know of,” he answered, and looked back down.

“What _can_ I do?” Iruka pressed, obviously not the least bit deterred by Kakashi’s silence. “Walking up trees is for kids, Sakura-san said so yesterday. You taught her how when she was a genin. You said I’m a _chuunin_!” Kakashi put the scroll down, and racked his memory for what little he knew of Umino Iruka: little enough, but then, they didn’t often interact, even less now that Team Seven had been disbanded.

“You’re an Academy Instructor,” he said. “And you work on the mission desk.” _You yell at jounin_ he thought, _and you don’t seem to mind being stuck in what a lot of people see as a dead-end job._ “Nine of your students all made it to the chuunin exam direct from the Academy, a few years ago, which hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“That’s _boring_ ,” Iruka announced, climbing up onto the desk beside Kakashi’s scroll. “I don’t want to be boring.”

 _Boring_ , Kakashi thought wryly, looking at the little boy next to him, _is not a word I’d choose to describe you._

“Well,” he said aloud, “maybe you’ll like it better when you’re older again.” Iruka frowned, and crossed his arms, kicking his feet against the side of the desk. Then he made a sudden grab towards Kakashi’s face: Kakashi’s hand shot out and caught Iruka’s forearms, preventing Iruka from falling. Iruka just grinned.

“Ino said you’d do that!” he crowed, pulling against Kakashi’s grip. He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t take it off at night either.” There was a pause, and Iruka stopped trying to pull free. “What do you do when you get sick?” Kakashi let him go.

“I don’t get sick very often,” Kakashi replied, a little surprised. That wasn’t usually the first question people asked.

“But Ino said you’re in the hospital _all the time_.”

“Did she?” Kakashi asked. “Well, she must know what she’s talking about. Maybe _she_ knows what I do when I get sick, then. I’m sure you can ask her tomorrow.” Iruka plopped back down on the mattress and folded his arms, frowning. Kakashi was glad the mask hid his grin at the expression. It seemed Iruka hadn’t taken to Ino very much better than she’d taken to him.

“Fine,” Iruka said. Kakashi went back to reading, and Iruka eventually got up, got a book, and curled up on the bed again. Iruka grumbled and refused to move when Kakashi climbed into bed; Kakashi poked him with one foot, and then left him alone. When he woke up in the morning, Iruka was curled up on the floor in his bedroll, a book clutched in one hand.

* * *

  


Research on living creatures wasn’t banned in Konoha, exactly. But it reminded people unsettlingly of Orochimaru’s experiments: as a result, though there were no written restrictions, most research was strictly medical, or else theoretical. But Kakashi was unwilling to test an only partially reconstructed jutsu on Iruka.

So after Sakura picked Iruka up the next morning (Iruka grinned to see her there, rather than Ino), Kakashi made his way out to the forest surrounding Konoha, thankful that it was spring, and caught a half-dozen baby rabbits. If all went well, they would be adult rabbits by the evening; if it didn’t, the messenger hawks would have an easy meal.

Things did not go well.

* * *

  


It was a week to the day after the accident when Kakashi figured out what was going wrong in his attempts to return Iruka to normal. They had just come indoors from the edges of one of the genin-level training fields, where Kakashi had taken to training in the evening: Iruka insisted on coming with him, and had been picking up the taijutsu forms Kakashi ran through surprisingly quickly, though he was slow to integrate the moves learned in kata into sparring. Kakashi had found that Iruka was usually more energetic right after they returned home, but that the exertion wore him out enough that he’d fall asleep earlier, which was a relief. Iruka had slept through the night last night for the first time.

Kakashi shrugged off his vest and hung it up (well out of reach) while Iruka bent over and straightened their sandals, frowning slightly as he lined them up against the wall. Kakashi settled cross-legged on his bed and picked up analyzing the results of his last attempt to reconstruct the technique that had shrunk Iruka back to childhood.

After a few minutes, Iruka climbed up beside him. When that drew no response, he started jumping up and down on the bed. (Kakashi had given up on stopping that days ago.) Kakashi didn’t have to look over to know that Iruka was grinning, entirely pleased in a way adults rarely were. He had found himself envying that apparent clarity once or twice in the last few days. The world must be much less complicated as a six-year-old than as a grown man. Kakashi froze as an idea struck him; he chased after its implications and began to unravel what they might mean, how they might solve the problems he’d been running into while reconstructing the jutsu.

After a few moments of silence, Iruka clambered into Kakashi’s lap: he was heavier than he looked, but Kakashi only noticed in a sort of abstracted way. When Kakashi didn’t respond, Iruka poked him in the shoulder. It wasn’t until Iruka stretched his hands up towards Kakashi’s face that Kakashi reacted, blinking one eye open and taking Iruka’s hands in one of his to prevent Iruka from pulling down the mask.

“Awww,” Iruka complained, still smiling, “you _never_ take it off!”

“Hm.” Kakashi replied, already picking up where he’d left off.

“Ino said you have big teeth,” Iruka said, tilting his head to one side and watching Kakashi closely. Kakashi ignored him. If he shifted the seals in the middle from Ox-Monkey-Hare to Hare-Ox-Monkey and added in the Jin seal from the middle of a water jutsu he’d picked up a few years ago but never had cause to use...

“Hey!” Iruka insisted, “you’re not listening.” Kakashi shook his head, and Iruka squawked. “Lemme go!” He pulled against Kakashi’s grip: Kakashi let go, and was not at all surprised when, a few moments later, Iruka reached up toward the mask again. It had become something of a contest between them over the last week, and Kakashi had found that he minded Iruka’s transparent, good-natured attempts to unmask him much less than most of the others he could recall: Iruka seemed to be motivated by nothing more than mischief and the fact that Kakashi had said “No.”

When Kakashi had asked why Iruka only tried to un-mask him so obviously, Iruka had made a face. “You’re smart,” he’d said, “you’d see through it anyway.” Then he’d grabbed for Kakashi’s neck, apparently aiming to pull the mask down from the cowl instead of from the edge.

Kakashi pushed Iruka off of his lap and sent him to fetch the shogi board -- Iruka was surprisingly good at it for a child, and Kakashi thought he could see why the Sandaime had played regularly against an older Iruka. It wouldn’t hurt to take a few hours to let things settle.

* * *

  


The next morning, the bunnies and chicks Kakashi caught grew nearly instantly into full-grown rabbits and birds. Kakashi snagged a couple before they could run or fly away, and brought them to Tsunade, who declared them entirely healthy. Now it only remained to cast the jutsu on Iruka, and go back to his normal, everyday life, without a small child hanging around.

There was just one problem.

“Don’t you _want_ to be a grown-up again?” Iruka shook his head very slightly. Kakashi blinked: it hadn’t occurred to him that this might be a problem. “Why not?”

Iruka opened and closed his mouth and bit his lip. Kakashi didn’t say anything, and finally Iruka said, “Grownups go away.” Then he looked intently at his feet, all of a sudden seeming very young and very small.

“Yes,” Kakashi said, crouching to look Iruka in the eye. “They do. But,” he lowered his voice, “they also come back.” Iruka made a small noise in the back of his throat that might have been agreement. It might equally have been disagreement.

“All right,” Kakashi said firmly, rising to his feet, “let’s try this again.” There was a sharp, indrawn breath, and Iruka was suddenly clinging to his left leg and shaking his head frantically.

“No.” Iruka said clearly, and then pressed his face into Kakashi’s leg. “You’ll go away again,” Iruka whispered, almost inaudibly, “you’ll go away just like my parents and Mizuki and the Sandaime and everyone.” He was shaking, clutching at Kakashi’s leg with surprisingly strong arms for such a small child. Kakashi looked down at him for a minute, and Iruka didn’t move.

“All right,” Kakashi offered, after a moment, “we don’t have to do this tonight. Why don’t we go see Tsunade in the morning and sort it out then.” Iruka nodded hesitantly and then pulled back to look up at Kakashi, his eyes a little watery.

“Promise you won’t go away?” Kakashi frowned.

“I promise I’ll do my best to come back.” Iruka squinted at him, then nodded. He ran to the bookshelf and picked up the second book in a series of novels that Kakashi thought were probably not too inappropriate, and then stayed stuck to Kakashi’s side for the rest of the evening, like a limpet or a very persistent burr. He fell asleep on the foot of Kakashi’s bed, as he’d taken to doing in the evening, but when Kakashi tried to move him, Iruka grabbed on and refused to let go.

“No,” he mumbled, still mostly asleep. “Not going away.” Kakashi sighed, and allowed Iruka to remain there. He woke in the middle of the night, when Iruka shifted, but the boy just crawled up the bed and fell asleep next to Kakashi, a warm, unfamiliar weight: Kakashi slept only lightly, but Iruka seemed not to have any nightmares the whole night long.

* * *

  


In the morning, Iruka did not want to go to the Hokage’s office _at all_.

“Iruka,” Kakashi said, trying to sound patient instead of exasperated, “I can’t just stay in Konoha like this. Sooner or later Tsunade will have to send me out, and you need to be able to look after yourself.”

“I can stay with Sakura-san!” Iruka proposed. “Or,” he bit his lip, “with Ino?”

“You can stay on your own,” Kakashi said, “once you’re a grown-up again.” Iruka clung to his leg even harder. “I’m not going to die on a mission just because you go back to normal.” He supposed that was a little blunt, given how Iruka’s face fell, but he’d never been good at sugar-coating things.

“Come on,” he said, and Iruka must have heard the lack of patience in his voice, because the boy followed, evidently preferring that to being picked up and slung over one shoulder. (That, to his credit, had only happened once: apparently Iruka had always been a quick learner.)

Tsunade frowned when the two of them entered.

“Hatake,” she said, “I thought you figured out how to fix this?”

“I don’t want to be a grownup,” Iruka announced, and Tsunade’s gaze fixed on him, rather than on Kakashi.

“Really,” she said, “And how do you plan to protect Konoha as a six-year old? Can you teach your classes?” Iruka frowned, and looked at the floor. He said something almost inaudible.

Kakashi knelt next to him, ignoring the way Tsunade’s eyes widened at the gesture.

“Hey,” he said, “no one’s going anywhere. You’ll just be older, and able to do all kinds of cool things again. All right?” Iruka latched onto him, wrapping his arms around Kakashi’s neck, and whispered.

“Promise?” Kakashi nodded.

“And I can keep reading the books?” Iruka asked, voice a bit muffled.

“Sure,” Kakashi said, “if you still want to.” Iruka pulled back and looked at him, almost offended.

“And I get to come over for dinner still?” Iruka pressed. Kakashi could see Tsunade steeple her hands before her face to hide a smile.

“All right,” he agreed.

Iruka pulled back a little bit. “What _kinds_ of cool things?”

“Well,” said Kakashi, mind going temporarily blank, trying to think of things that would seem impressive to a child. “You get to yell at people.” Iruka blinked.

“That’s not p’lite.” But he was peeking at Kakashi hopefully from the corner of his eye.

“No,” Kakashi agreed, “it isn’t.” He paused, then added, “ _you_ are particularly good at yelling at people. Naruto swears he can hear you from halfway across town when you’re really angry.” Iruka’s head snapped back up, and he gaped at Kakashi.

“Really?” Kakashi nodded solemnly.

“Really. Your students know better than to get Iruka-sensei angry. Well, except for Naruto. And Konohamaru. But they’re a bit odd.”

Iruka unwrapped his arms from Kakashi’s neck and folded them in front of him. “That’s not yelling at _grown-ups_.” This seemed to be an important distinction.

“Well, no,” Kakashi admitted. “But you get to yell at grown-ups too. You work the mission desk. So when a shinobi tries to hand in a bad report, you get to tell them off.”

Iruka made a small noise in the back of his throat that might have been agreement.

“And you get to take classes out on field trips,” Tsunade continued, “and go out on missions.”

Iruka looked to Kakashi for -- confirmation, maybe? Kakashi nodded, and dropped a hand to Iruka’s shoulders.

“Your students will be very happy to have their Iruka-sensei back,” Sakura said, softly, stepping into the room.

Iruka stepped away from Kakashi, and nodded, arms still folded against his chest.

“Okay,” he said, hesitantly. Tsunade nodded, and Kakashi began the long series of hand-signs that would return Iruka to adulthood.

* * *

  


Something knocked against the door. Kakashi looked up, a little bit surprised. He’d made enough food for two again automatically, as if Iruka were still here, and he’d been contemplating tossing half of it in the bin, just to get rid of the visible evidence: he’d gotten used to having someone else around. He had half-expected to be cooking for himself and Iruka again, even with the jutsu reversed.

Kakashi could remember the strength in Iruka’s tone just that morning, evident even in his fluting, child’s voice when he’d insisted on borrowing Kakashi’s books and coming around for dinner after he grew up again.

But when Iruka had come back to himself, he’d seemed to want nothing more than to forget the entire thing, to pretend he and Kakashi were still complete strangers. He really was exceptionally good at yelling at people, Kakashi thought, remembering how loudly Iruka had bellowed about losing a week of his life to a ‘stupid, irresponsible jounin.’ Something knocked at the door again, almost hesitantly.

When Kakashi opened the door, Umino Iruka stood there, a bottle of sake in one hand and a book (Kakashi’s own book, he noticed) in the other.

“Um,” he said, smiling hesitantly. “I think I owe you an apology. Or several. And, well. I thought if I were going to come around for dinner like I badgered you into, we might as well celebrate my being old enough to drink again?” He paused. “I’m sorry about this morning. I was ...” He trailed off and smiled again, almost apologetically.

Iruka had a nice smile, Kakashi noticed, clear and bright even as an adult. He opened the door wider and gestured Iruka in.

Iruka toed his sandals off neatly, and then stopped, hovering just beyond the genkan. Kakashi paused, reaching for the wok sitting on the stove.

“Well?” Kakashi asked, turning to face Iruka, “you know where the dishes are.” Iruka smiled wider, and stepped all the way into the apartment.


End file.
